REQUEST FOR @exjocklover5: Love to see one where a handsome fit lacrosse player gets turned into a 35 year old beefy hairy carpenter house framer. Be cool to see a story about Joe who was a lacrosse goalie and captain was about to go pro but ended up with a knee injury. He found a sketchy healing drug online but instead it turned him into an exjock bluecollar man with a family in his thirties and an insatiable thirst for Busch light.
I took a few creative liberties here and wrote a long one lol. Enjoy!
“C’mon,” Ethan muttered, gripping the back of the couch as he tried to straighten his right leg. “I’ve got this... I've... fuck!”
He exhaled deeply and collapsed onto the couch, wincing as the pain shot through his knee. It hurt so much, so fuckin' much. And it wasn't just physical. He could hear his phone buzzing, the messages piling up.
"You coming back this season, bro?"
"Tubing Friday. Your knee good enough yet?"
"Scouts still asking about you btw."
Ethan cursed again. He missed going to practice. Missed drinking with bros. Missed the parties, the dumb arguments, the camaraderie. He missed his life before the injury.
“Fuck me...” His head sunk into his hands, "Stupid fuckin' knee."
He glanced up at his stick and the framed photo of the team. Him in the middle with a wide grin and his arm around his bros. Fuck... he wanted to get back to that. And he wanted to get back fast.
"There's gotta be a way..." He muttered.
An hour later he was deep in rehab forums when an ad stopped him cold.
BUILD-U-BACK RECOVERY
NOW ENROLLING IN YOUR AREA: A NEW START, LASTING RELIEF
“Sounds fake as hell,” Joe murmured. But when he glanced back at the team photo he felt a pang in his chest. He reached for his wallet soon after.
This was it. Ethan stood on the empty practice field, stick in hand. The cold night air felt good against his warm skin. The stadium lights already dimming.
"Okay..." He bounced on the balls of his feet, "Okay, I've got this."
He dropped into goalie stance carefully, bracing for the pain. But it never came.
"No way..." Ethan pushed harder, shuffling across the crease before planting sharply off the bad leg, "Oh my god." He laughed with disbelief, "No fuckin' way!"
Ethan spun and smiled wider when he saw Luke, "Bro!"
"I know! I fuckin' know!" He pointed at his knee, "It's gone, dude! It doesn't even hurt anymore."
It fuckin' worked. That fuckin' drug actually worked! Ethan stood proud, chest heaving and adrenaline surging. He was back. Practice, scouts, games, parties... it was all back.
“Dude! First game back, you feel ready?”
Ethan looked up from tying his cleats and grinned. “More than ready.”
He tugged at the bottom of his hoodie, annoyed again by how tight it felt around his waist and chest. He’d already stopped wearing some of his older shirts entirely after realizing they didn’t fit right anymore. He figured his dryer was doing a number on his wardrobe.
“We won’t be too upset if you fuck up out there,” Luke said while peeling his shirt over his head. “We get you’re a little rusty.”
“Eat shit,” Ethan laughed, tossing a roll of tape at him before reaching for his own hoodie.
The cool air felt warm against his skin, and Ethan scratched absentmindedly at his chest, pausing for just a moment as his fingers tangled with thicker hairs there.
"The fuck...?" Ethan frowned and looked down.
Dark curls spread across the middle of his chest before trailing down his stomach and disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. Sweat glistened faintly through the hair despite the cold room, and when Ethan shifted slightly, the waistband dug tighter against a stomach that suddenly looked thicker than he remembered.
"I shaved this shit this morning..." He figured the hair growth was a side effect of the drug, but he'd spent the last few days making sure he kept it under control. But now...?
Luke whistled low. “Damn, Walsh. Didn’t realize the recovery plan involved growing a lawn on your chest and blowing out your waistline.”
A couple guys laughed awkwardly before looking away again.
“Yeah, yeah,” Ethan muttered, pulling his jersey on faster than usual. The fabric stretching tighter around his waist than he remembered.
Nobody really said anything after that.
Ethan forced a grin anyway and slammed his locker shut. “Alright, boys,” he called out. “Let’s do this.”
It was supposed to feel normal again. Friday night. Sports bar packed wall-to-wall after the game. Music too loud. Ethan sat wedged between Luke and Dylan with a cold Busch Light in his hand before realizing halfway through the bottle that he didn’t even remember ordering it.
“You looked like shit tonight,” Luke laughed.
“Seriously though, you good?”
Ethan scratched at the rough stubble on his chin. “Just playing bad.”
His phone buzzed against the table.
"CONGRATULATIONS ON ONE MONTH! YOUR NEXT PHASE OF RECOVERY STARTS TONIGHT!"
Ethan frowned at the notification before locking the screen again, "Next phase?" He stared at his arm, now dusted with dark hairs.
"Hey Ethan." Luke nudged him, "Someone's staring."
Ethan spotted her across the bar. Blond. Gorgeous. Smiling at him. For the first time all night, something loosened in his chest.
“There we go,” Dylan laughed when he caught Ethan staring. “That’s the Walsh we know.”
Ethan grinned and took another sip. Soon after, he was fumbling with his apartment keys while she laughed softly beside him in the hallway. They moved to his bedroom, clothes discarded quickly.
"Fuck..." Ethan whispered, as she kissed slowly along his neck, "I needed..."
"Standby mode protocol upload."
He squeezed his eyes shut.
“What?” she asked softly.
Her hands slid slowly across his chest and draped around his shoulders before pausing.
“Wow,” she said with a small laugh. “You’re kinda hairy.”
Ethan glanced down automatically, eyes widening at the sight of the dark hair curling across his shoulders and down his back.
"That's not..." He knew it wasn't there five hours ago.
“Sorry,” she added quickly, still smiling. “You’re just hairer than most guys I’ve been with.”
"Pleasure directives stem from labor initiatives."
Ethan winced hard enough that she finally pulled back slightly.
“Yeah. I just...” He rubbed at his forehead. “I don’t feel right.”
She kissed him again anyway, her hand sliding lower across the thicker, softer shape of his stomach before slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers and around his flaccid cock.
“Oh,” she laughed gently, trying to mask her confusion.
Ethan glanced down, a wave of sickening humiliation washing over him. His cock stayed completely dead. Buried in a dense, coarse mat of newly thick pubic hair and a rapidly expanding fat pad, his dick looked distinctly shorter, stubbier, and entirely useless
“You okay?” she asked again, quieter this time.
“Yeah. I just...” He swallowed hard. “I dunno. It's not working... I... Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said softly, “Seriously. It happens.”
A few minutes later he stood awkwardly by the door while she slipped her shoes back on.
“Maybe just stress?” she offered gently.
“Yeah.” Ethan forced a laugh. “Probably.”
After she left, the apartment felt painfully quiet again. Ethan stood there shirtless for another minute before walking to the fridge automatically and grabbing another Busch Light.
A week had passed, and Ethan exhaled heavily as he stepped out of the shower. He’d stopped changing in the locker room after practice a few days ago, tired of catching teammates staring too long at his stomach or shoulders before awkwardly looking away. Now, alone in his apartment, there was nobody else left to notice except him.
“Jesus Christ...” he whispered at his reflection.
The mirror across from the bed reflected somebody that looked wrong. Dark curls spread heavily across his chest and shoulders now, while rough stubble shadowed his jaw despite shaving before practice that morning. Even standing still, his body looked heavier than it used to.
“I’m exercising,” Ethan muttered weakly. “I’m eating healthy...” His eyes drifted toward the empty Busch Light cans scattered across the nightstand, “I...”
Ethan’s breath caught as the voice echoed in his head.
Every muscle in his body locked instantly.
Ethan jerked hard against it on instinct, but nothing responded correctly. His fingers twitched once beside his thigh before going still again. His chest continued rising and falling normally. He could blink. Breathe. Swallow. But that was it.
“What... the fuck...” he forced out weakly.
Hours passed as Ethan sat frozen on the edge of the bed staring into the mirror. The rough hair across his chest thickened slowly while his stomach pushed heavier against his lap with every shallow breath. His face itched constantly as a dark beard spread across his jaw until he looked like he hadn’t shaved in weeks.
A knock on the door and the sound of heavy footsteps entering his apartment made him tense. He watched as two men in BUILDING-U-BACK jackets entered his room and stopped mid-step when they saw Ethan in nothing but a pair of tight sweatpants.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “That’s the lacrosse kid?”
The younger guy kept staring. “Still got some of that frat-boy face left.”
The younger rep shook his head slowly. “Weird seeing one this young.”
“Don’t worry,” the older rep said casually. “Give it a week and you won’t even be able to pick 'em out from the others.”
Ethan strained against the paralysis hard enough that his jaw twitched once.
“You know what’s crazy?” the younger rep continued. “Six months from now he’ll be drinking beer after shifts talking about kids that don’t exist like the rest of ’em.”
“Yeah well, the whole family-man thing makes clients comfortable. People trust workers who look settled.”
One of them glanced toward the empty Busch Light cans beside the bed.
“Damn,” he muttered. “He’s already self-reinforcing.”
Ethan let out another whimper as he tried to reach for his phone, but his arm wouldn't budge.
“Oh shit,” the younger rep said suddenly. “You think he knows what we’re saying?”
“Nah,” the older rep replied casually. “The lab guys say there's not much left going on upstairs during standby.”
Ethan felt something cold settle quietly in his chest. The older rep finally looked directly at him and nodded toward the hallway.
“C’mon CRW-57F," He tossed him his old lacrosse hoodie, "Housing assignment’s ready.”
Ethan stood automatically.
Ethan barely remembered the drive to the facility. He had been packed into a van shoulder-to-shoulder with a few other hirsute guys sporting beer guts. His eyes remained fixed on the man across from him, and Ethan realized with growing dread that it was like looking in a mirror.
"There's been a mistake!" He tried to call out, but the words in his head wouldn't leave his mouth, "Please..."
When they did finally arrive at the facility, he was walked to a featureless room with a table and a few bins.
"This is CRW-57F." A man said to his colleague, entering the room, "Originally Ethan Walsh. Signed up for the program for an injured knee." He looked down at his clipboard, "Worker identity is officially Joe Mercer."
"Joe Mercer? That's not..." He thought, but the name Ethan was already starting to feel distant.
"Alright, let's get him in the system." The man continued, "We're going to need your personal belongings, CRW-57F."
Joe felt as he reached into his pocket and gripped his phone. He quickly dropped it into one of the bins, along with his keys, wallet, student ID.
"Oh shit, that's the college kid?" One of the men said, looking down at the ID.
"Yeah, lacrosse player, if you can believe it now."
"Damn, that drug did a number on him." The man sighed, "Okay, CRW-57F, need the clothes too."
Ethan winced as he gripped his team's lacrosse hoodie and yanked it off. Cool air hit the thick hair covering his chest and stomach, and he heard one of the employees exhale quietly through his nose.
“Damn,” he muttered. “Hope the knee was worth it.”
"Update on the apartment?"
"Cleaning crew is taking care of that, lease will terminate tomorrow."
"N-No..." Ethan thought, imagining them clearing it out. His team photo. His lacrosse gear. The clothes crammed into the closet. Every piece of evidence that Ethan Walsh had ever existed.
"Family updated?" The other man nodded, "And..."
"What do you think? Took it poorly." The other man sighed, "Kid’s barely old enough to drink and now he’s gonna look older than his dad."
Ethan felt his stomach twist. The thought of his parents seeing him like this made him want to disappear.
"By then he'll be settled enough that it won't matter much." The rep muttered, "They all stop trying eventually."
One of them picked up Ethan's student ID and looked at the picture for a second before tossing it into the bin with the rest of his belongings.
The lid snapped shut. A folded stack of clothes landed in Ethan’s arms a second later. Gray work shirt. Plain jeans. Steel-toe boots. The employee checked another box on his clipboard.
“Alright CRW-57F,” he said casually. “let's get you downstairs.”
The worker housing smelled like sweat, musk, sawdust, and stale beer. The bed made his back ache. Men wandered the halls at all hours wearing gray shirts and work pants, scratching at thick stomachs or rubbing sleep from heavy eyes while they talked about wives, back pain, football games, and their kids.
“Tyler’s putting on weight. Gonna join the football team like his old man.”
“Yeah? Mine just turned thirteen. Kid's eating me out of house and home already!”
Ethan sat quietly on the edge of his bed with a Busch Light in his hand, staring toward the floor while his body moved through routines his brain still hadn’t fully accepted. Every few hours that same pressure built behind his eyes again, and afterward his thoughts always came back slower.
"Who are these people?" He wondered, "They all look... the same..."
But when he looked down, he realized how much he looked like them too. Even more than the night he was brought to the facility. The gut, the hair, the beard, the weathered skin... what the fuck had they done to him?
“Tyler’s putting on weight. Gonna join the football team like his old man.”
Ethan looked up slowly. A different pair of workers stood near the vending machines now.
“Yeah? Mine just turned thirteen. Kid's eating me out of house and home already!” The exact same laugh followed.
Ethan felt his stomach tighten. It was the same conversation, the same cadence… the same everything. They all talked like that. All looked the same. Nothing to distinguish them...
"Lacrosse." He thought suddenly.
He closed his eyes and tried to picture the locker room. The smell of the gear. The roar after a clean save. He could almost see the jersey. Blue. Or green? No... Red?
Ethan shuddered and took another swig of his beer.
He couldn't recall the drive out here. One moment he was climbing into his assigned bunk, the next he was hauling lumber across a chaotic job site. Sweat drenched the thick hair across his torso. He reeked, too... of sawdust, exhaustion, and that stale musk clinging like the rest of them. He craved a shower, but knew better. Management preferred them this way.
"57F?" Two reps walked past him, "Still not meeting his quotas."
"Really? You'd think with him having been a star athlete..."
"Eh, you would think." The rep muttered, "We've found it really doesn't."
"Shame. We'll ship him out to Ohio tomorrow then, they're looking for more men and he's slowing us down."
He continued to work, but their words kept repeating in his head. A month ago, he was a star. Always getting positive feedback, always being commended. Now, he was failing at whatever this nightmare was.
"Joe?" He turned immediately to see one of the workers approach him, "You remember my boy, yeah?" The man smiled, "Tyler’s putting on weight. Gonna join the football team like his old man."
"Yeah?" The word left his mouth before he could even think about it. In fact, he didn't even really process it. Everything slowed suddenly, simplified in his brain. Lacrosse? Old apartment? Friends? Suddenly, it felt far from reach, "Mine just turned thirteen." He'd heard those words before from the other workers. The exact same words. Delivered in the same cadence, with the same gravely voice. Now... those words were coming from him, "Kid's eating me out of house and home already!"
Both men laughed. But as the other worker stepped away, Ethan's eyes widened.
"Fuck... no..." His thoughts were slower than they had been just two minutes prior. But so was his anxiety. Everything suddenly felt so much simpler, "La-lacrosse... lacrosse... not this..." He repeated for as long as his mind let him.
The pressure behind his eyes returned immediately. Ethan squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the lumber until his knuckles turned white. He tried to hold onto the panic, tried to hold onto the certainty that something terrible was happening to him, but even that feeling seemed to be slipping away. The fear was still there. He could feel it. Yet every second it felt smaller, duller, less important than the work waiting around him.
"Joe!" He looked up automatically. One of the workers waved him over, "Quit daydreaming. Grab this end."
He did as he was told and the pressure vanished. Relief flooded him, washing away the confusion, the panic...
"Appreciate it," the worker said.
"No problem." The answer came naturally, "I ain't no slacker."
The two men carried the load across the site together while talking about football, kids, weekend plans, and just how good the cold beer at the end of the day would taste. Across the yard, one of the reps glanced up from his clipboard.
"Huh... Looks like Ohio's getting him just in time."
Joe adjusted the lumber on his shoulder and laughed at something one of the other workers said. The sound blended effortlessly with the rest of the crew as they disappeared into the noise of the job site.
